Crossword Clueless
by Child of Loki
Summary: Meredith Brody does crosswords in her head when she needs to focus her mind. But this time, she's finding the puzzles to be a useless sort of distraction. Brody/LaSalle
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own **_**NCIS: New Orleans **_**or its characters…**

**Author's Note: Supposed to be working on my NaNoWriMo story… but these two, I swear. I'm not sure I could ever pinpoint the traits that attract me, but some characters just completely kidnap my imagination/attention. And for some reason, Meredith Brody and Chris LaSalle have done so, and in a very short time. Then again, I'm only slightly trying to figure out the details of their characters in my head. And this fic is admittedly, mostly just for the fun of some smut... well, indirect smut...  
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**WARNING: CONTAINS SMUTTY, SMUTTY FANTASIES...**

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><p>Agent Meredith Brody closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She was stumped. She was <em>never<em> stumped. Not for long, anyway. But try as she might she could not figure out another approach to tracking down their missing sailor. Every standard and nonstandard search parameter she ever used had yielded nothing. Nothing. The man had gone entirely off the grid. She pinched the bridge of her nose. She tried to bring to the forefront of her mind the crossword from the morning paper. She always spent ten minutes memorizing it over breakfast, so that she would have the meditation to go to if she needed to concentrate later in the day.

Number 50 Across. Five Letters. 'Eyed Amorously.'

Letch? No. _Eyed_. Past Tense.

Leered? Too many letters...

The neat rows of black and white boxes fled her inner vision as frustration seized up her brain. Why couldn't she find this petty officer?!

She opened her eyes. Her computer screen was a disaster area of windows layered one over the other. It was a miracle that every last bit of RAM hadn't been consumed by the open programs, freezing it up just like her brain. It was painful to look at.

Her gaze slid to the left until she found herself watching LaSalle working merrily away at his own desk, obviously having more luck tracking PO Franklin's movements prior to falling off the radar. The agent was smiling to himself. He seemed to do that a lot, was a genuinely happy sort of guy, as far as Meredith could tell. She liked him. Quite a bit. He liked to tease, and be teased, which was fine by her. And they seemed to work well together.

And he did have a nice smile. And lively eyes. And an ass that didn't quit.

And oh, god, it had been too long since there'd been someone keeping her company in bed. Possibly even a year. Oh, shit. Definitely a year since Mark. And before that, an equally long stretch since Logan and she... that had been a lovely arrangement. Well, not arrangement. 'Relationship', she supposed, only not really. It had never interfered with their work. They got on extremely well, and it had been spectacular sex, but not real 'dating.' She loved the man, for sure. Always would. But she'd never fallen _in love _with him. Nor he with her. If that was even a thing. Granted she probably wanted to believe it was a thing, deep inside her heart, because she was a woman, after all. But her parents' tenuous relationship and the way they distanced themselves from each other, and her... she'd never seen people 'in love'. Bitter and resentful, emotionally dependent, yes. But even obviously amorous couples were just victims to biology, despite their affectionate, moon-eyed looks. It was all hormones and lust.

Meredith Brody knew this.

She was okay with this. It was completely natural. But perhaps the decision to ogle her charming and attractive new partner was unwise. Wait! That was it.

Number 50 Across. Five Letters. 'Eyed Amorously.' _Ogled_.

One puzzle solved.

But instead of turning her attention back to the stunted manhunt, Meredith found herself continuing to surreptitiously evaluate the agent still hard at work on his own task. Chris LaSalle _was_ attractive. Not a large man, but not a small one, either, and nicely built. Compact, trim and strong. Physically, they were of a size. She had about a half an inch to an inch on him if she wore her more robustly-heeled shoes. Barefoot, he'd have a couple inches of height on her. Not enough to buy him any advantage if they sparred... or... well, she wondered if maybe he might like a little bit of rough play in the bedroom. His eminently facetious personality gave her a pretty good idea how things would progress in a sexual context. Some kissing and touching, exploring... He'd probably crack some jokes, tease her, make her laugh. Then things would take a more intense turn. He might try to toss her on the bed, get her on her back, crawl on top of her, part her thighs... And she'd resist. She'd use her legs, for she had no hope of matching her upper body strength against his very well-muscled arms and shoulders. He might wrestle with her for control, but she had a feeling he'd ultimately submit to her will. The man was obviously fascinated by her, couldn't quite figure her out. And even without knowing his precise personal history, she could see that deep down, there was this little boy who was eager to please. Oh, LaSalle was undeniably comfortable in his own skin, but Meredith was a student of human behavior and psychology. There were layers to the man, and she'd begun to peel them away, perusing each for relevant information as she unwrapped the puzzle. It might come in handy, if she determined he could be approached as a sexual partner. He would be fun. And he would go above and beyond to please her.

Oh, he would definitely submit to her desire to get him on his back, straddle him, run her hands over his delectable bare chest, and slowly sink her hips downward, taking his hard length fully into her until she settled flush upon him with a gasp. The question was whether he'd know enough to shut up, or would continue to play with her, charming and coaxing her with his -admittedly- delicious southern drawl. She might have to kiss away his words as she began to move, until she'd achieved a pace that rendered him breathless. Or maybe he would just acquire one of those quiet, focused expressions, staring at her with his dark blue eyes, his hands gripping her waist and hips, cupping her breasts, playing with her achingly tight nipples as she rode him with relentless determination.

He'd hold out for her. She was certain of that. Whether it was due to his ideal of being gentlemanly, or that hint of eagerness to please, to have her like him as much as he liked her (a fact he could not and did not particularly try to hide), Meredith couldn't say. But neither would she care at that point, the feel of him, thick and stiff inside of her, the devastating friction as she rode his hips, the groans he would not bother to stifle... She would come with devastating intensity, breathless, probably with a silent scream (which always marked a _really _good orgasm for her). Her body clutching fervently at his throbbing flesh might drag him over the edge to climax along with her, his back arching and his hips thrusting upward as his hands clenched bruisingly on her hips and he drove deep and hard into her, crying out-

"Brody!"

Meredith physically started, her ridiculously, embarrassingly vivid daydream evaporating. Well, not precisely evaporating, for it lingered, maliciously heating her blood. Her eyes focused sharply on the highly inappropriate subject of the illicit fantasy, and his playful blue gaze met hers momentarily before she hastily looked away, feeling the blush heating the skin of her face and neck.

"Where'd you go?" LaSalle asked her, grinning in that stupidly-charming way of his.

"What?"

"You looked 'bout a million miles away," he said. _Why couldn't he just drop it?_

"Yeah..." She swallowed, fending off the vivid image of a naked, sweat-coated Chris LaSalle lying beneath her, panting in that post-coital moment that was partway between the peak of arousal and the weightless bliss of satiation. "I just... got tired of wracking my brain for a way to track down PO Franklin."

"An' started doin' crosswords in your head again?" He chuckled lightly, but his normal humor seemed off a bit. Did he suspect she'd really been thinking about taking him with merciless voracity?

"Yup," she said, giving him a bright smile she hoped looked entirely genuine. "You caught me."

She turned her attention back to the file on her desk and the failed search programs on her computer screen, as if she could even remotely focus on it now.

"Give it to me."

Meredith nearly jumped out of her skin again.

"W-what?!"

Her eyes felt as if they were about to pop out of her head. Her cheeks were on fire. She hadn't been thinking about doing precisely that. She hadn't. She. Had. _Not_.

"Maybe I can help you out."

_Oh, lord. You probably could._

"Give me the clue that's apparently flummoxed you."

She locked eyes with him. And it was the most uncomfortable two seconds of her life. Was he trying to call her bluff? Did he know she'd been planning out precisely how she'd jump his bones to such an intense degree that her panties were admittedly a little damp?

Nope. He wasn't calling her out on it. He _didn't_ know. He _couldn't_ possibly know what she'd been thinking. The man was a good agent. But he wasn't _that_ good. And she'd easily played him before. But still... Agent Chris LaSalle was staring at her like he knew precisely what her dirty little mind fancied doing to him. He was _dangerous_. He was...

"Off-limits," she said. And the finality of it calmed her normally unflappable yet currently highly agitated nerves. He gave her a curious look. "Seven letters."

"Hmm," he said. "I'll have to give that one a little consideration."

And then, thankfully, he returned his attention to his work. Meredith Brody sighed and resolved to never let her mind wander in such a direction again.

'Off-limits'. Seven Letters.

L-A-S-A-L-L-E.

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><p><strong>AN: I think there's a LaSalle-centric second-part to this…**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note: Haven't quite got these characters settled in my head yet, but it sure is fun playing around with them.**

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><p>Agent Chris LaSalle had been reconstructing the movements of Petty Officer Franklin prior to his being witnessed at the scene of that poor barmaid's grisly murder. But the back-tracing had only placed the sailor at his ship, no hints otherwise, no persons of interest or places he'd be more liable to turn to while in trouble. He'd contacted the few more likely to yield results, but there was nothing... and there might be nothing. It was looking more and more likely that Franklin was dead himself. But it was better to stay positive. Without solid evidence, they were assuming he had just done a runner, after either witnessing the crime, or possibly perpetrating it.<p>

Wondering how their almost-brand-new transfer was doing on her end, he took a break from writing up his report, letting his gaze wander to the desk several yards away.

Meredith Brody was staring at him. Well, not exactly staring... more like _spacing out _in his general direction. It wasn't a completely foreign look to find on her pretty face. Lord, she was an attractive woman, he wasn't too ashamed or politically correct to admit having noticed.

Generally, though, her contemplative reveries didn't seem to last so long. Or have her so fixated on nothing in particular. Her thoughtful looks were usually shortly followed by so much vibrant energy. This looked like something else. Agent Brody _must_ daydream, like any other person. He briefly considered what that might be like.

She was a _fascinatin'_ woman. Just when you thought you'd pegged her as a typical vanilla government agent, bam, you hit a colorful burst of flavor. She was goddamn confetti cake. Unexpectedly fun, like when she gushed over a new food or started listing crossword clues out of the blue in the middle of an entirely unrelated conversation. But this little 'space trip' was out of character, even for her.

"You alright, Brody?" he asked of the woman who was staring off into the wilds of who-the-hell-knew-where. she didn't even blink, let alone respond to his concern. Had she gone mysteriously comatose from some strange brain disease?

"Brody!" This time she jumped like a trout from the water, which was disturbing, since one of the few things he knew for certain about the woman was her solid, unflappable nature. She was cool and collected. At least, on the outside. Inside her pretty, obviously clever head, who could say what went on... it seemed like even she herself could get good and lost in there.

"Where'd you go?"

"What?" She still looked completely startled, her eyes big and adorable, like a little kitten or some other such fluffy baby critter. The flush on her cheeks, however, was nowhere near as innocent as the big, bambi eyes implied. _Very interestin'._

"You looked 'bout a million miles away," he said, intently studying her face, her mannerisms that were 'classic evasive'. Even a couple yards away, the pink blush coloring the pale skin of her face and neck was noticeable. He'd definitely caught her thinking about something that embarrassed her.

"Yeah..." Her tone did not contain its normal confidence. Perhaps the wild goose chase they'd been put on was frustrating her. Maybe she was embarrassed of having lost focus. "I just... got tired of wracking my brain for a way to track down PO Franklin."

Yup. she had gone to whatever crazy recesses of her own mind in which she found comfort.

"An' started doin' crosswords in your head again?" He chuckled lightly.

"Yup," she said, giving him a bright smile. She had a beautiful smile. "You caught me."

Chris still didn't understand the woman, but he found her to be the most intriguing person he'd ever encountered, complex and quirky. But not impossible to read. It was obvious in the way the tension left her shoulders, the relief flickering across her face... it hadn't been crosswords that she'd been daydreaming about. The question was whether he should try to call her on it, use it to pry a little bit more of the information she kept locked up tighter than a farmer's daughter on Saturday night.

"Give it to me," he said.

Brody nearly jumped out of her skin again. _Gotchya._

"W-what?!"

He grinned broadly, because he now knew precisely what she'd been thinking about, what sort of escape her mind had been creating.

"Maybe I can help you out." Her blush was deepening. _Oh, Agent Brody, aren't you just the cutest little, dirty-minded thing? _"Give me the clue that's apparently flummoxed you."

They locked eyes momentarily, in which he tried to confirm his read on her by her reaction, and she tried to stare him into submission.

"Off-limits," she said, more to herself than to him. He gave her a puzzled look, forcing her to expound further. "Seven letters."

"Hmm," he said. "I'll have to give that one a little consideration."

And deciding perhaps he had made her uncomfortable for long enough, he pretended to return to his work. After a minute, he heard her chair slide against the floor, and glanced up to see her stretch theatrically.

"I need a break," she announced.

Oh, _sweet jesus_, he just couldn't help himself. He grinned broadly, asked, "Want some company?"

Her eyes became 'deer caught in the headlights' big. Oh, he'd definitely caught her in abnormal territory, and he was loving the fact that she couldn't quite put up her cool exterior to shut him out. It had a gaping hole and he could see right through it.

"No, thanks," she said after a three-second display of abject terror. And then she hastily began to gather up her things, bending over to place folders, phone, water bottle and tablet in her bag, and unintentionally giving Chris a perfect view of her _fine _backside.

Now, Christopher LaSalle wasn't the sort of man who held a fetish for any part of the female anatomy. Yes, there were some parts he enjoyed more than others, but he couldn't ever be called a 'boobs' or 'ass' man. He liked a woman on a complete package sort of basis. He wasn't interested in her like a certain cut of meat, although the rump roast currently in his field of vision was grade A.

And he knew he should probably feel ashamed for coveting his yet new partner's lovely derriere, but he didn't. He was just a man, after all. And she was just a woman, who had given him as thorough a once-over upon their first meeting as he'd done her. No, he most definitely had no intention of ceasing to contemplate Brody's round, firm ass as she bent over to gather up her things, or her full, naturally swaying hips as she proceeded to exit the building.

'Child-bearing hips' his mama would've called those enticingly grabbable flanks.

Chris had never understood the lauded appeal in 'Child-bearing hips.' He certainly had never wanted to get a child on any woman. He still wasn't ready for fatherhood... But he supposed it was a prime example of sexual selection. In the not too distant past, wide hips meant woman and baby were more likely to survive the birthing process. And there was something instinctively appealing about a well defined set of curves, like those possessed by his attractive fellow agent.

But even more appealing, in his opinion, was the woman's intriguingly odd personality. He found himself pondering what it would be like to touch her, more-so when her face lit up, proud about discovering a lead, than even when she exchanged her loose blouses for fitted tees to wear beneath her body armor on raids and consequently displayed the goods she normally kept hidden. No, not _hidden_...that implied shame in her body, which besides obviously being embarrassed over entertaining a dirty fantasy that afternoon, Agent Brody did not seem to suffer from.

But there was one surefire way he could think of finding out just how comfortable she was with her delectable body.

Lord, how he wanted to push through that tightly controlled exterior, revel in the hot mess he knew it contained. Merri Brody was beautiful chaos reined in with an intricately manicured, cool and collected exterior. She slipped every now and then, but he more than a little wanted to get her to let go entirely. Or to surrender the reins to him for a moment or two. He would take her on a _ride_.

And he was pretty goddamn certain she would sure as hell like it.

Images of taking her in sweaty, carnal bliss flooded his mind, and he didn't bother to fend them off, squash them and bury them, like he shoulda. Instead, he indulged in entertaining them for a moment, just a moment.

Meredith Brody, naked, creamy skin flushed and slick with sweat, thighs parted and gasping his name as he slides deep inside of her... She hooks her leg about his waist, opening herself even further for him as he begins to thrust in and out of her, kissing her slender neck and the supple skin of her breasts, staring into her big, dark_, lovely _eyes... Until she starts to writhe beneath him and dig her fingernails painfully into his back, forcing him to grab her wrists and pin her hands to the mattress, and pound her even harder...

But that wasn't quite right, was it?

No. Agent Meredith Brody, lovely though she may be, was a control freak. She would not be able to submit, to let Chris lead the dance. At least, not the first time. She would want, no, need to be on top. Later, once she was comfortable with the idea of bumping uglies with her partner, she would doubtless willingly allow him to play the dominant. She was a fair-minded woman, after all.

And he had no qualms about satisfying whatever requirements she needed met in order to let her hair down... well, shed the buttoned-up exterior and go for a good _ride_.

He wondered what sort of seat she had... She seemed the type, boarding school and all, for a proper English equestrian approach. Then again she _was_ a Midwesterner, and them folk were cowboys. So maybe she went along with whatever the journey threw at her, accommodating herself to the beast between her legs when necessary, rather than attempting to exercise full control over her mount with a firm hand. Or maybe she enjoyed riding completely bare back, wild and free, equal measures the dominant and submissive partner for the duration of the exhilarating ride.

"Hey."

Speak of the devilish woman herself. Brody had reappeared, looking much more the composed agent she undeniably was. Unfortunately for LaSalle, he'd spent the entire time she'd used cooling down working up his own blood with raunchy fantasies about her sexual proclivities. And so she frowned at him when he not only did not respond in kind with a friendly greeting but failed to get up out of his chair upon her appearance, something she had disproved of vocally her first week there, but he'd persisted in doing. Because his mama had raised him to be a gentleman and damned if he was going to fail her just because his new partner found it an outdated, chauvinistic courtesy.

But _not_ this time. For one rather large, uncomfortable reason amongst a few others, he stayed parked at his desk.

"Hey, Brody," he said, as if nothing were the matter, as if he hadn't been thinking about her naked body straddling his hips."Get your head screwed on straight, did ya?"

"Yes." She gave him a big 'let's get to work because I love my job' smile before sitting down at her desk.

Yup. Back to being Merry Merri, whatever that weirdness earlier was... Now, now he wasn't so sure she'd been thinking quite what he thought she'd been thinking... what he then proceeded to give some serious consideration to himself.

"I've got things basically tied up on my end," he said. "You want some help?"

"If you'd like," she said, staring fixedly at her computer screen and typing fiendishly away. Finally settled down somewhat, Chris risked walking over to her desk to hover over her shoulder (discovering she smelled intoxicatingly of honeysuckle), as she gave herself a vehement pep talk. "I'm going to catch this slippery bastard."

_Slippery_. Slick. Silky. Wet... Jesus, Brody's goddang word games had sunken into his brain. And worse, the woman herself, the scent of her, the sight of her, her voice... he was having a right awful time staving off the illicit fantasies.

She was his partner for heaven's sake. Out of bounds. Off-limits. _He was having illicit fantasies about his off-limits partner. _

Wait. That was it.

"Illicit," he said into her ear, making her start, and turn a look of confusion upon him. "Off-Limits. Seven letters. _Illicit._"

She stared at him. Not quite blankly, but that deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression again. He'd seen her lie extremely well to suspects, but for some reason her emotions were an open book today, _to him_. And everything about her reaction said 'busted.' But she lied to him anyway.

"Oh, thanks!" she said after a couple beats. "I think that finishes up the game."

She locked eyes with him, daring him to challenge the veracity of her supposed crossword puzzle, or to point out what it was contrived to cover.

All he gave her was a grin.

Then a wicked thought entered his head and he just could not resist the urge to play.

"I've got a fresh 'un for ya," he said, earning him a curious raising of her eyebrows. "'Lures men to their destruction. Five letters."

She pursed her lips and her eyes became momentarily unfocused as she contemplated his clue. And then her face lit up in triumph. God, she was gorgeous in those eureka moments of hers.

"Siren. One of the mythological creatures who lured sailors to their death. Most notably found in Homer's _Odyssey_."

"Close enough," Chris said, making her frown by implying she hadn't gotten it right. He met her eyes with his facetious gaze and she apparently decided to shake off the tense staring contest, returning her attention to the search running on her computer screen. She was also damned attractive wearing her focused, all-business exterior.

Yup. 'Lures men to their destruction.' Five letters.

B-R-O-D-Y.

**END**

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><p><strong>AN: And now back to the novel-writing. Stupid, distracting fan fiction….**


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